A daisy,
for all of its mythology,
smells like urine.
(But then,
So does a home
with small children)
[Can’t get it
Out of the rug]
Believe me,
I’d take all,
all
The daisies
In the universe
(Pre-heat death)
[will there be?
Flowers? After
we are gone?]
To have that
smell,
(A toddler’s calling
card)
As long
as the smell
shall stay
(Not even
Urine-Annihilator
sprays can make
it stop)
If it meant
I get you
([All of]you)
in the deal.
I have no ill will towards
anyone,
anymore.
I have buried it in my front yard
next a Japanese Maple.
I placed it in an ornate box with
a metal clasp.
My ill will
will ooze out of the boxes sharpened
corners.
It will meet soil.
Feel the truth of the universe
Note its sustaining nutrients,
Its nourishment.
an opportunity for growth.
It will grow and bloom-become a daisy,
maybe many of them.
It will drink the Spring Rains.
It will be a joy to the eyes of each passerby.
A vision of peace.
I will no longer dwell
next to the tree, near the dirt mound,
feeding the ground with my tears
and my trepidations.
It is time for me to notice the maple’s pink
leaves and how they reach out around them.
How they call to us.
How they let me know that I too
am planting something of myself
in this place. I am becoming a piece of
It.
Joining the procession
In a joyous hymn
And using percussive accessories.
Becoming the spectacle
We all deserve to witness.
